Be Mine
by prettylittlepetticoats
Summary: 'And she never wanted to leave' It is the night before the battle and everyone is seeking some kind of comfort. She finds hers in the arms of her King /ONESHOT


**authorsnote**: should probably be updating one of my overdue ASOIAF mutli-fics but ehhhhhhh here is a one-shot .. whoops.

anyways, hope you enjoy! I'll be updating other fics soon, the ink is dry will be the next update. if you enjoyed this though please follow/fav and review!

**songrecommendations**: jenny of oldstones - got.

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The sky is dark, not a cloud in sight despite the fresh snow unbroken on the fields around the keep. It is near ankle deep in the Godswood but not a drop more falls as night take over. It almost feels like a reprieve … a break from Winter for just one night. For just a few hours winter will not touch them, it will leave them to their goodbyes, their sleep and the last night many will live. The North knows only winter most of the time, and yet for just one night it shall leave them be, the sky clear, the calm before the storm comes to take them all.

Because it is coming, he knows that, he has known that for so long. For years know, it hasn't been about anything but that … anything but the Night King making his way to them. The Others consume his mind at every moment. He watches them approach over and over again, watches them shatter against his blade, hears the horrific garbled language they speak to one another. He sees their blue eyes, their pale skin, the way they walk so gracefully and yet so inhuman. He watches them come for them all, he can see their hatred for the living, he can see the way they desire darkness. Death, that is what they want, a never ending darkness of death. They want the sky to darken, never to light again. They want to see all living things wither, to turn pale and die. They want the world to die.

He will not give them what they want.

He knows they are the underdogs here, in reality they stand little chance. Their numbers are too large, and will swell with each life they take. They have a dragon now, a mutilated horrific thing according to Bran. They do not slow, they do not fear, none of their troops will shake with their hands on the blade. None of them will hesitate or try to run. They have the advantage over the living; not just in numbers but in their nature. They are unfeeling, they will never act with the caution or worry that men will, and just by that they are more likely to win. They will not think about which moves to make, they won't cry out in pain or stop because of a lost limb or a wound. They are unflinching, and that is their greatest asset.

And yet they must try; what other choice do they have? Jon has never cared about the squabbles of the Kingdom. He doesn't care about Cersei in the South, plotting like a fool and ignoring the real threat. He doesn't care about his Aunt, Daenerys, so obsessed with the Throne it clouds her to what is important. He doesn't care about the Northern Lords who won't leave their keeps because he bent their knee to the Dragon Queen. He doesn't care about alliances or appeasing his bannermen. None of that matters, not now with battle so imminent. Even his birthright, a shock to him something he was still conflicted and obsessing over … even though he'd told Daenery's, he didn't care. He knew what was important. Everything except for those stood outside the walls of Winterfell, advancing to kill them, everything else did not matter. Everything else was unimportant.

Jon knew if they survived then yes there would be more to do outside of his conflict with the Others. Bannermen would need to be soothed, alliances forged, the North would need to move forwards. He'd have to find a way to make peace with his Aunt, find a way to forge Northern Independence; he knew now that bending the knee had been important for this fight, but he knew the North would never bend to Daenery's if they survived. She would never have their loyalty, never have their love or devotion. The North would not be cowed under a boot again, not even by dragons.

But for now that didn't matter. All that mattered was this fight, coming so soon … just hours away now according to Bran. This was all that mattered, and that was all he could focus on.

He knew he wouldn't sleep now, how could he? His mind was consumed. He knew sleep would not come to him. And so with one last glance he left the crypt's, the lights of the candles bouncing off the walls, illuminating the place of the resting Stark's, of his Mother, his Uncle, his Brothers. He hoped no more Stark's would end up resting here after tonight. He knew there would be casualties in battle, not all would survive, he just hoped his sisters, his brother, he hoped they remained among the living. Even though he know knew they weren't his blood relatives, just cousins not siblings, he still hoped for them. He hoped he did too, hoped he survived, though part of him knew … if he died, would that be the end for him? The last time hadn't been.

But then Melisandre wasn't here anymore, perhaps if he fell in battle this time it truly would be the end. In truth he hoped so. He did not want to be brought back again, dredged back from the darkness that had taken him over last time. Ever since coming back he had felt different, not quite like himself, like something was missing. He could live with that, live with the changes, and the niggling feeling that things were different with him; he could deal with that. But he did not want to go through it again, he did not want to imagine how different he would be if he was killed and rose for the second time.

No, this time if he fell, he would remain fallen.

The cold was biting as he stepped out of the crypts but the sky remained clear. He pulled his cloak closer, the heavy garment protecting him against the worst of the cold, Sansa had made it well.

He thought of Sansa then. Surely their last possible night should be spent as a family? He knew that Bran would refuse. Ever since the war council meeting he had been at the Weirwood Tree of the Godswood, his eyes closed, his mind apparently a million miles away. He knew Arya had planned to go and see Gendry. It felt wrong they were all scattered on their last possible night together. At least he could see Sansa as he entered the courtyard; sat with Theon at one of the tables, drinking her soup with the soldiers and common people, shivering a little from the cold.

He loved her for that. Yes, he loved her for many things, but the way she'd taken up the mantle of Lady of Winterfell? Preparing for Winter, protecting their people, but also being with them. She ate with them in the courtyard, she invited common women to sew clothes with her, got to know their guards, brought the children of soldiers toys. She wasn't just a ruler, looking down on their people, she understood them, she cared for them, and they adored her in return. He had warned Daenery's, when they marched North after the battle beyond the wall, he had warned her the night she had come to him on the boat but he had rebuffed her, he had warned her. He had bent the knee to her to ensure her support, but she would find no easy victory in the Northern loyalty. Not only did they distrust outsiders, but they were very loyal to their Lady. She would never find them easily swayed.

He knew Sansa was always looking out for the North, putting them first before all. He knew she disapproved of him bending the knee, of giving up their independence. She had questioned him on his motives, convinced because the Targaryen girl had fallen for him that he had in return. But no, he had tried to reassure her; he had bent the knee for their survival, nothing else. He had told her; this was for the battle, bending the knee was just to ensure they had the numbers.

"Jon" He was broken from his musings as he realized he had wandered over to her. Theon had nodded at him before slipping away, joining his men at the barracks to spend the last hours with his people. Everyone tonight was spending their time with those they loved, Jon found it was only right that he did the same. Arya may be in the arms of the man she loved, and Bran off trying to do as much as possible before the battle began, but surely both Jon and Sansa deserved a night of peace? Hadn't they been fighting for so long now? Surely they deserved one night of quiet before the storm came?

"Sansa" He spoke, his voice a rumble, "The battle comes" He said simply, and he saw that flicker of fear in her eyes before she stood rigid, as though to display a picture of strength. "We should get our final moments of peace"

She nodded in response, and he followed as she made her way into the main keep. They walked past the main dining room, as they heard the startings of a song from within. They walked past room after room of couples lying together, of families clutching one another. Finally they made it to Sansa's quarters, to the old room of the Lords and Ladies of Winterfell. She ushered him inside, lit a fire as he followed her in, rubbed her hands together as he stepped inside, and sat himself in front of the fire, she taking the seat next to him. It reminded him of when they had first been reunited. When they had simply sat for hours side by side, overjoyed at having one another back … they may not have been close as children but they were now.

"Are you scared?" Were the first words she spoke, her eyes focused on his face, the dim of the room illuminated by the reaching flames of the fire. It was warm here, warm and comfortable, and Jon wished he could remain here, rather than meet the cold of the battle. Sure, for once he wouldn't be fighting in the snow or the cold, he'd be aback a dragon, Rhaegal, his Father's namesake. He hated he wouldn't be with his men, but he could do more good in the air, especially now he knew that he truly could tame a dragon, what with his heritage.

"Aye" He responded simply. He could admit to being frightened, he'd be a fool not to be after all. He remembered something then, something his F… Uncle had said to Bran, all those years ago, when he'd executed a night's watch deserter; a man who in hindsight had been right in his running from the terrible creatures that were now outside their gates. He remembered the conversation between his little cousin, now a different person all together, and his Uncle, the man he still considered a Father, even with the truth come to light;

_'Can a man be brave if he is afraid?'_

_'That is the only time a man can be brave'_

There was some comfort in that now. Jon was scared, he'd be an idiot not to be, but if bravery walked hand in hand with fear then he was sure by morning his courage would be at an all time high.

"But you'll come back" Sansa said, and her words weren't a question, but a statement of confidence. He laughed a little at such a phrase, and smiled at her as she looked at him with a glare, mad at him for laughing at something of such importance. He didn't break at her glare, he was one of the few people who wouldn't. After all, if Sansas smile was summer, beauty and light, her glare was one of ice, of a promise of pain. But still he laughed as she turned that frosty gaze on him, never scared of her.

"You have great faith in me" He responded simply, "That warms me"

She smiled in response, the smile that took her back, back before all the pain. He liked to see that, to see her face free from the tension and pain she had carried for so long. He smiled back and he could see his own expression mirrored in her. That for a moment they were both happy to see the other happy. Happiness was rare nowadays, it was nice for them both to be smiling.

"What happens if we do survive?" Her smile was gone now, replaced by a look of contemplation he had seen across her expression ever since he had brought Daenery's and her army to Winterfell. A look that spoke of more battles to come, if they had the luck to survive this one.

"We live" He said simply, for what else did they know beyond that?

"Will you marry her?" Her words turned colder then, he could hear the annoyance in her voice. It stirred something in him, something he shoved away before replying.

"No" Again he kept his words short, "I don't want to, and I don't want to go South, I'll stay here"

She seemed to like that response, as her expression softened, before hardening again with her next question. "What about me? Will you marry me off?" She didn't look at him as she said that, kept her head bowed instead. Even as he looked to her she refused to look up, and he could see tears clinging to her lashes with the question. In response he stood to his feet, pulling her to stand with him, his hand finding her chin to tilt her face up to look at his, his eyes finding hers, his grey almost black, hers that signature Tully blue.

"Never" He said simply and she nodded, apparently satisfied and ready to believe him, though not quite.

"No?" Again he nodded, but she shook her head in response, "People will find it odd. People already say I should be married, the bannermen suggest their son's and nephews for my hand" she shook her head again and he could see such an idea repulsed her. But then could he blame her? The idea repulsed him too, though for Sansa she responded with disgust to the idea, in truth it just made Jon feel angry.

"I don't care" That seemed to make her feel better, though pulling her into his arms was when he felt her truly go calm. They were the same height, but his hand cradled the back of her neck, allowing him to tilt her to place a kiss to her forehead. She tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, and they clung to one another for just a moment too long before parting.

It was a little too long and before Jon had worried when he'd hold her too tightly, or his eyes would flicker to his lips. When he had admired her hair, or kissed her forehead but longed to go lower. He had been disgusted with himself, had ruthlessly suppressed such thoughts, thinking himself vile for lusting after his sister. But that had been when he had thought he was Jon Snow, bastard brother … not Aegon Targaryen, merely her cousin … such a perspective changed things, how could it not? They hadn't been like siblings growing up, and now he knew they weren't, it truly changed things.

And yet he still tried to suppress those thoughts. It felt wrong to even entertain them. She was a delicate little thing, even after all the hardships that life had forced upon her, even after all the pain she had endured. In his eyes she was still just Sansa, the little red headed girl who had suffered beyond measure and yet had come out the other side stronger. She was his height, and yet fragile; she'd be hiding in the crypts tomorrow rather than on the front lines of battle. He still saw her as something to protect, a loved one to take care of, to make happy and defend. How could he even entertain the thoughts running through his head as she pulled back, and his eyes flickered once again to her lips? How could he even think of such things?

It was wrong, wrong to think of Sansa that way, to look at her that way, and yet he had been … had been having such thoughts, such desires for weeks now. Every time she turned to grin at him, that little smile she seemed to reserve for him. Every time she laughed, the high, clear sound echoing through Winterfell's walls, cheering all who heard it. Ever since he had found out they weren't brother and sister … those thoughts had began. Sure, he'd had the occasional thought before he'd found out the truth, but now? Now they were worse.

They were wrong, and yet they wouldn't stop. There were worries as well. Sure, he had promised her he wouldn't marry her off, and he had no intention of doing so … but what if she met someone? She may have been hardened to the world now, but every now and then he saw a flash of the old Sansa. A look at the Sansa who had wanted nothing more than a husband, a keep to run and a gaggle of children at her feet. What if she left? Found someone and left him behind? And what about him? He'd be expected to marry, to continue the Stark line now Bran couldn't. What did they do then? Already there was pressure on him to simply solve the issues of the Kingdom and marry the Dragon Queen; Aunt or no. What then? Would the two be parted?

Regardless of his desires, these new wants he had, there was one thought that persisted from the moment Sansa had arrived at Castle Black; he would not be parted from her, he would not. Finally they were back together; as a family. Arya had Gendry, Bran had his gods and his duty now, but Sansa? Him? They needed their family, they needed one another … he would not let them be parted, he couldn't.

If they won this battle, he did not want to leave her, or she him … and that complicated things all the more.

Time seemed to stretch out as he looked down at her, his gaze moving to her lips before he quickly looked back into her eyes. She had caught his look it seemed, as she looked up at him, her expression unreadable. She was good at that; hiding what she thought. Once her emotions had been plain as day on her face, and even now Jon could read her better than anyone, but she was still good at it. She had learned that from Littlefinger he knew, and his blood boiled at the thought of that man, even now he was gone.

What a hypocrite he was! Despising the man for lusting after Sansa, just as he had despised Ramsey and had forced himself not to beat the man to death, knowing his death belonged to Sansa. He had hated Tyrion for a moment as well, remembering the man had married her. Hell, he had thought ill of Loras when Ser Jaime had teased Sansa about him over dinner, and Jon had never even met the man! What a fool he was, to hate the men for desiring Sansa, when he did now as well.

"I" He spoke to snap them out of this, this awkward position he'd placed them in. "Sorry" He mumbled, and took a step back, a step away from what he wanted, as he always did; love was the death of duty, that lesson was one he'd always remember.

And so he stepped back, to make some distance, to clear the air, to stop whatever he wanted to do next. It was getting harder to resist, and yet he managed it, he stepped back, knowing he couldn't do it; couldn't complicate things like that. He stepped back.

And yet, when he did … she stepped forwards.

* * *

Sansa wasn't sure what she was doing, why she hadn't let the awkward moment pass. She wasn't sure why she had stepped forward as he stepped back, caught looking at her lips, caught gazing at her in a singular way that only a man who was gazing at a woman could do. She wasn't sure why she stepped forward, following him, within an inch of him, refusing to let him make the distance he had intended. She wasn't sure why … and yet she did.

She had invited him to her room, to spend maybe their last hours on this world together. She couldn't have thought of anyone else she wanted to see the night through with. Arya was off having her own adventure, Bran was … not really Bran anymore, so who else could she have wanted by her side but Jon? Jon … her savior, her best friend, her brother … well cousin as it turned out, her King. Who else could she possibly want?

And yet Sansa knew … she wanted Jon in ways that she shouldn't, it was pointless denying it. Perhaps it was because he had saved her, saved her in everywhere a person can be saved. Perhaps it was because he'd taken back her home, placed her in a high chair next to his and given her Winterfell back. Was it because he was now her cousin? Not brother? And so it was no longer forbidden? Was it because he was her King, the man she looked up to, loved in every sense of the word? Or was it simply because he was Jon, her Jon, the man she had come to love in a way she never had growing up.

What a fool she had been as a child, looking down on Jon, looking down on this glorious man. She had been an idiot, led by her Mother's hatred, and yet even as much as she regretted it (and had apologized more times than she could count), part of her was almost glad for it. They hadn't grown up as siblings; thanks to her … and now, the fact that she didn't feel for him a way a sibling should, it was easier to understand, considering their dynamic as children.

The way she felt for him now, had ever since he'd revealed the truth to her about his parentage … it wasn't the way she should feel about him. She felt about him in ways no sister felt for her brother (except the Lannister twins, and she cringed when she thought of the comparison), and yet it didn't scare her, it was too right to be scary.

It felt right in every-way. She would not be married off, and she couldn't imagine seeing Jon marry either. She wanted to remain in Winterfell, with Jon, by his side, ruling, the two of them together. She felt comfortable around Jon in ways she did not feel comfortable around other men. He made her blush in ways she had thought were long lost to her … he made her feel things she had thought she would never feel, not after what she had been through. Jon … she loved him, it was clear as day to her, obvious, and logical almost. How could she not love him?

How could she not?

And she had been feeling this way for weeks, but unable to express it. How could she? Not only was she half convinced he was after the Dragon Queen, but what would he think of her? Until a few weeks earlier they'd been siblings, now they were cousins. How could she possibly admit to him the way she felt without inviting his disgust? That had always been what had stopped her, the idea of Jon refusing her, rejecting her, breaking her heart even when he wouldn't mean to. That was what had stopped her.

Until now.

She had caught his gaze on her lips, could see the smoldering of something in his eye, and for once Sansa refused caution. She ignored her mind screaming at her to stop, ignored her worries and fears. She wanted him, she wanted this, and damn, she was going to take it.

"Sansa.." He started but stopped as she shook her head, closing the distance between them completely with one small step.

"No, don't worry" She said simply, shaking her head again as she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him close, refusing to listen to the part of her mind that warned her to stop. It warned her that if they survived this battle … what would this mean? It warned her, it warned her to exercise caution, and yet she would not.

"We … we shouldn't" He said simply, and she nodded at that, they shouldn't it was true, and yet that didn't mean they wouldn't.

"I know" She said simply, and she felt a little flutter go through her as he placed a hand at her waist, his other circling her body to pull her that little closer. She let out a little squeal at that and he let out a dark chuckle, to which she rolled her eyes. It was nice though, nice that even in these moments, of something so scary, they could still be Jon and Sansa, the pair that made one another smile and laugh. Even in a moment of such intensity, they could still make one another grin.

"We shouldn't" He repeated, and she nodded again, he needed reassurance, just as much as she did.

"I know" She repeated, but said no more and just waited. She wasn't bold enough to make the first move, even now. She waited, her eyes finding his, their gaze locked. Hours seemed to pass and yet it was only minutes. She waited, her heart thrumming against her chest, her fingers gripping into his hair to stop her hands shaking. Moments passed and she feared, she feared he wouldn't act. And yet, just as she was worried, worried he'd turn away … he leaned closer.

The moment their lips met … it felt right, god it felt right. There weren't any fireworks as said in the stories and songs, there wasn't an earth shattering realisation or a burst of light, no. It was better than that. As their lips met, and he pulled her closer, so close she was sure they'd become one person, it just felt right. It felt like this was where she belonged; in the arms of Jon. She belonged here and nowhere else. This was where she should be, always, and as he let out a groan, and one hand moved to her hair to pull her in even further; she knew he felt the same.

"Jon" She let out a breathy little gasp as he broke the kiss to move his lips to her neck. A little whine left her lips as he found a sweet spot she hadn't even known existed, as he found that spot just under her ear and kissed it, not once, not twice, but three times. That alone felt like worship.

Worship. It was the first time she had felt that, the feeling of being worshipped, and goodness it felt good.

Still, she pulled him closer to her again, her fingers twisting in his hair, and her lips met his once more. Again it was that feeling; that she was meant for this, as was he. That this was where they both belonged. As the kiss went on, and they held one another tight … as the songs from the hall nearby floated through the door, as they clung to one another, it felt perfect. It felt like nirvana, and neither wanted to stop.

"Be mine" He whispered against her lips, as she tugged him towards her bed, neither of them breaking away from one another, not even for a second.

"I already am" She said simply, and he only kissed her deeper at such a promise. A promise between the two of them, to be one anothers … as it should be, as it always would be, as they promised.

It felt right, so right, and as they fell into bed, a little giggle leaving her lips and a grunt his as she landed on top of him … they both looked at one another with a smile.

Be mine … she had been for a long time now, just as he was hers, always.

* * *

so, thoughts? hope you enjoyed! sorry for the lack of smut, I am so, so bad at it.

this is a one shot, won't be continuing - I think my headcanon for this one-shot is they all died the next day? so, no, not a good idea for me to continue.

I do have another one shot in the works though, will be longer and less jonsa, but something unique I hope y'all like. also I will be updating my multi-fics asap, the ink is dry should be the next update, followed by turning back - check those out if you haven't already!

also if you did enjoy this please fav and review!

see ya


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